Tomás Rivera
Tomás Rivera Tomas Rivera was, and is, one of the most influential Chicano authors of all time and a forerunner in the canon of Chicano literature. He was born in Texas to migrant farm workers in the year 1935 and worked in the fields as a young boy. Through education he was able to escape the migrant worker lifestyle and went on to earn a PHD from the University of Oklahoma. He was a well-known educator during his lifetime as well as being acknowledged for his short stories, poetry, and literary essays. He was the first to receive the Quinto Sol Award in 1971 for his Spanish novella and best-known work “…And the Earth Did Not Devour Him” Tomas Rivera is important to me as a literary influence because of the content he addresses. The concept of identity and how it is formed, how it is maintained, and how it changes is applicable to any reader with the knowledge that identity is not a fixed entity. His vignettes are also an instructive style for me because they are small glimpses into very different characters who are all complex in their own way but, as in the collection of “…''And The Earth Did Not Devour Him”'', they all have a central theme running through them to create a larger story. I enjoy his subtleties in his writing and the telling of everyday events that in fact impart a deeper meaning. For example if I were to excerpt his work I would choose his vignette Zoo Island which details young boys conducting a census in their local town of migrant workers. The deeper meaning found in this vignette is the desire to be recognized/ acknowledged even through such a simple means as giving the town a name and counting the number of people who reside there. The agency that the young boys have in creating a personal and communal identity is a deep topic that is conveyed in an entertaining and subtle way. Tomas Rivera is one of the most influential Chicano writers to date and I would argue that he should also be given more recognition as a contender in the larger field of influential contemporary fiction writers. Zoo Island (Excerpt) Jose had just turned fifteen when he woke up one day with a great desire of taking a census count, of making a town and making everybody in it do what he said. All this happened because during the night he had dreamed that it was raining and, since they would not be working in the fields the next day, he dreamed about doing various things. But when he awoke, it hadn’t rained at all. Anyway, he still had the desire. The first thing he did when he got up was to count his family and himself- five. “We’re five,” he thought. Then he went on to the other family that lived with his, his uncle’s- “Five more, and that’s ten.” Next he counted the people living in the chicken coop across the way. “Manuel and his wife and four more- that’s six.” And, with the ten he already had- “that’s sixteen.” Then he took into account the coop where Manuel’s uncle lived where there were three families. The first one, Don Jose’s family, had seven, so now there were twenty-three. He was about to count the second family, when they told him to get ready to go to the fields. It was still dark at five-thirty in the morning, and that day they would have to travel some fifty miles to reach the field overgrown with thistle that they had been working on. And as soon as they finished it, they would have to continue searching for more work. It would be way after dark by the time they got back. In the summertime, they could work up to eight o’clock. Then add an hour on the road back, plus the stop at the little store to but something to eat… “We won’t get back to the farm till late,” he thought. But now he had something to do during the day while they were pulling up thistle. During the day, he could figure out exactly how many there were on that farm in Iowa. “Here come those sonsabitches.” “Don’t say bad words in front of the kids, Pa. They’ll go around saying ‘em all the time. That’s really be something, then, wouldn’t it?” “I’ll bust them in the mouth if I hear them swearing. But here come those Whities. They don’t leave a person in peace, do they? Soon as Sunday comes, and they come riding over to see us, to see how we live. They even stop and try to peek inside our chicken coops. You saw last Sunday how that row of cars passed by here. Them all laughing and laughing, and pointing at us. And you think they care about the dust they raise? Hell no. With their windows closed, why, they go on by just as fine as you please. And here we are, just like a bunch of monkeys in that park in San Antonia- Parkenrich.” “Aw, let ‘em be, Pa. They’re not doing nothing to us, they’re not doing any harm- not even if they was gypsies. Why you get all heated up for?” “Well, it sets my blood a boiling, that’s all. Why don’t they mind their own business? I’m going to tell the owner to put a lock on the gate, so when they come they can’t drive inside.” “Aw, let it go, it’s nothing to make a fuss over.” “It sure is." * * * “We’re almost to the field. Pa, you think we’ll find work after we finish here?” “Sure, son, there’s always a lot of work. They don’t take us for a bunch of lazy-bones. You saw how the boss’ eyes popped out when I started pulling out all that thistle without any gloves on. Huh, they have to use gloves for everything. So, they’re bound to recommend us to the other landowners. You’ll see how they’ll come and ask us if we want another field to work.” * *''' * * “The first thing I’ll do is jot down the names on a list. Then, I’ll use a page for each family, and that way I won’t lose anybody. And for each bachelor, too, I’ll use a page for each one, yeah. I’ll also write down everybody’s age. I wonder how many men and women there are on this farm, any way? We’re forty-nine field hands, counting the eight and nine-year-olds. Then there’s a bunch of kids, and then there’s the two grandmothers that can’t work anymore. The best thing to do is to get Jitter and Hank to help me with the counting. They could go to each coop and get the information, then we could gather up all the numbers. Too, it would be a good idea to put a number on each coop. Then, I could paint the number above each door. We could even pick up the mail from the box and distribute it, and that way the folks could even put the number of their coop on the letters they write. Sure, I bet that would make them feel better. Then we could even put up a sign at the farm gate that’ll tell the number of people that live here, but… what would we call the farm? It doesn’t have a name. I gotta think about that.” It rained the next day, and the following day as well. Therefore, Jose had the time and the opportunity to think over his plan. He made his helpers, Jitter and Hank, stick a pencil behind their ear, strap on a wrist watch- which they acquired easily enough- and shine their shoes. They also spent a half day reviewing the questions they would put to each household head and to each bachelor. The folks became aware of what the youngsters were up to and were soon talking about how they were going to be counted. “These kids are always coming up with something… just ideas that pop into their heads or that they learn in school. Now, what for? What’re they going to get out of counting us? Why, it’s just a game, plain tomfoolery.” “Don’t think that, comadre, no, no. These kids nowadays are on the ball, always inquiring about something or other. And you know, I like what they’re doing. I like having my name put on a piece of paper, like they say they’re gonna do. Tell me, when’s anybody ever asked you your name and how many you got in the family and then write it all down on paper. You better believe it! Let them boys be, let ‘em be, leastways while the rain keep us from working.” “Yeah, but, what’s it good for? I mean, how come so many questions? And then there’s some things a person just doesn’t say.” “Well, if you don’t want to, don’t tell ‘em nothin.’ But look, all they want to know is how many of us there are in this grove. But, too, I think they want to feel like we’re a whole lot of people. See here, in that little town where we buy our food there’re only eighty – three souls, and you know what? They have a church, a dance hall, a filling station, a grocery store and even a little school. Here, we’re more than eighty-three, I’ll bet, and we don’t have any of that. Why, we only have a water pump and four outhouses,right?” * '''* * * From Tomás Rivera: The Complete Works ''by Tomás Rivera , published by the Arte Público Press. Copyright © 1992 by Concepción Rivera. All rights reserved. '''Prompt' Try to write a vignette (a short, impressionistic scene that focuses on one moment or gives a particular insight into a character, idea, or setting) that relates the everyday to the reader. Try to be subtle in your writing and use the everyday subjects that you address to mask a deeper message that you try to impart upon the reader.